


Of Cabbages and Sestras

by Thevina



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 06:51:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2722829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thevina/pseuds/Thevina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A gapfiller in season 2, episode 6, in which two sisters eat breakfast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Cabbages and Sestras

**Author's Note:**

  * For [in48frames](https://archiveofourown.org/users/in48frames/gifts).



Still groggy from a shite night’s sleep in a tent shared with Ms. Farts-A-Lot, Sarah unzipped the tent flap and walked a ways away. She was impressed at herself for having planned ahead enough to bring an actual roll of toilet paper, a shining beacon of civilization in this ridiculous road trip with Helena. She glanced around into the dense, low-lying fog, and seeing nothing, unzipped her jeans and squatted down. She was only partway through the sublime bliss of urinating when she heard a similar sound to her left.

“The fuck?” she spluttered, instincts gathering her into simultaneous flight and fight with razor clarity.

“Sestra. No worry.”

There was a pause, and Sarah’s breathing slowly ebbed to its normal levels. Seconds passed and she rested back above her heels.

“We pee the same. Is funny, no?”

Enraptured by the calm surreality of taking a piss next to her twin in the middle of nowhere woodlands, Sarah took a few seconds to listen to the distantly parallel streams as they hit the earth.

“Think it sounds the same no matter who you are,” Sarah replied.

She tucked a square of toilet paper into her palm and circled the roll a couple of time, then tore of her section. Wordlessly she lobbed the roll underhand in the direction of Helena’s voice, gratified when she heard a muffled grunt as it made contact with her, somewhere.

“You do that on purpose.”

Helena’s grumpiness wafted through the chill and damp.

“Maybe so. You hungry? Oh, wait.” Sarah stood and zipped up her jeans, then pulled down on the thighs until they fit perfectly. “Now that was a dumb question, yeah?”

Silence answered her. Twenty, then thirty seconds at least passed by on Sarah’s mental clock.

“Helena? Hello?”

She pivoted around, nerves ricocheting inside her skin. Cold fingers on her face caused her to cry out. Helena stood, mouth pursed, her fried-blonde squiggles of hair flattened on one side of her head.

“I am here. You worry too much.”

Her proclamation over, Helena ambled back toward the tent. Her pulse still racing, Sarah muttered to herself, “You are a fucking piece of work.”

“A hungry fucking piece of work,” Helena’s voice carried back. “I can hear you, you know.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

At the diner Sarah stopped at— she couldn’t rightfully said she found it, it was more that Helena’s grabbing at the steering wheel had determined that their destination was at the Robin’s Egg Roadhouse — she sank against the torn vinyl cushion of the booth.

“Coffee?” an uninterested voice sounded in her direction.

“Yes. Black. Please.”

Sarah pushed her stained white cup and saucer into easy reach of the waitress, who poured in the steaming beverage. 

“And you?”

This second question appeared aimed at Helena. With the shock of a branch snapping back, Sarah realized that if she were forced at gunpoint to order for her twin, she wouldn’t have the foggiest idea where to start… other than with sugar.

“You have hot chocolate?”

Helena twisted a spiral of hair around her finger, moving the glass sugar canister toward her from the collection of condiments, her eyes transfixed on their server.

“Of course.”

There was a pause.

“Is that what you want?”

The waitress’ gaze landed on Sarah for assistance. Sarah nodded.

“One hot chocolate.”

“And breakfast menu,” Helena stated, pouring some sugar into her coffee cup before pressing her finger into it and then putting it in her mouth.

“Coming right up.”

As Sarah raised her cup to her mouth, she wondered why she’d not taken up smoking. A long time ago. Perhaps it was for the best, as it was an expensive habit, but if ever a time called for smoking at a diner, this was it.

“Helena?”

“Hmmm?”

Helena gnawed at her bottom lip. Sarah noted Helena’s hands were below the table, but since she didn’t have any weapons that she knew of, she filed that away. Sarah took another sip of coffee as the waitress brought a menu.

“Thank you,” Helena said directly into the menu, her eyes devouring the pictures of pancakes and waffles.

“Hey, yeah, I have the cash to cover this, but I want to get back on the road as soon as possible.”

Silence answered Sarah’s statement. At that point, she realized she was hungry as well. The tinned food from the night before had been a long time ago.

“Helena?”

“Yes?”

“May I share? What you decide on, I mean. Let’s just get some waffles, yeah.”

Helena fixed her with a gimlet eye.

“And strawberries.”

“Yes. Strawberries.”

Helena sat in a state of agitated quiet until their food arrived. They both dug in, though Sarah’s mind was spinning even as she ate. How did Helena know about Cold River? What revelations would be there, and did either of them really want to know it? A cold chill frissoned down Sarah’s spine.

“Are you okay, sestra?”

Sarah’s attentions locked onto Helena’s face.

“Yes. Just feeling… antsy. Let’s get back on the road again, yeah?”

A mournful expression settled on Helena’s face.

“Okay. After I finish hot chocolate.”

Sarah sighed.

“Fair enough. Look, I’m going to go to the ladies’. Back soon.”

“Okay.”

Helena waved vaguely with a fork, her attentions on the plate in front of her.

When they reached the church, Sarah’s focus was solely on finding out what she could. When Helena wanted to help, on autopilot Sarah said, “You stay in the car. Don’t cause any trouble.”

As Helena protested, Sarah took the truck keys. As she shut the door, she saw the look of disappointment on Helena’s face, but she shook it off. It was only later, much later, down in the basement of the church, looking at the horrific images from the newsreels at the time, that she reached into her coat pocket for a tissue. As she did, she found a crumpled bit of paper. After wiping at her nose, she opened up the piece of paper, wondering what on earth it was.

In untidy handwriting, she read, “Sugar. Honey honey. Sestra. I wait for you.”


End file.
